Catharsis
by adORing18
Summary: Eddie and Janet deal with the fallout from Janet's major lapse in judgment. The catharsis is mine, mostly, trying to make sense of what all went down, trying to bring to light some of the things that didn't get said. Nine chapters total.
1. Chapter 1

The letter had sat, unopened and neglected, under a dusty pile of outdated window catalogs on his desk for exactly eleven days. While it had certainly been out of sight, it had not once been out of mind for Eddie. As if with the wind, it had arrived in the work mail on his very first day back to Best Friend Windows after "The Shining," as his buddies had christened the royal ass-kicking he'd received at the hands (and steel-toed feet) of Lausch and his minions. Eddie was more than thankful that he, not Nick, had received the mail that first day. At least no one else knew of the letter's existence. Well, no one besides its author. It was best that way, so no one would give him a hard time about not opening it. About trying to forget about the space it took on the earth. About what prompted it. About how he could ever hope to respond.

He just couldn't bring himself to open it; when he'd first received it, it had pissed him off in a big way. A letter? Couldn't she talk to him? She hadn't even tried. She hadn't called or stopped by. He knew he'd pretty much let her have it at the hospital, but he half expected her to try to make some kind of contact with him. Not that he even wanted to hear from her. The thought of her sitting on the edge of his hospital bed, all contrite as she confessed her transgression, still created a bitter wave of nausea, like a spicy whiff of Bloody Mary after a hard night of drinking. Revolting. He tried to banish her image, and the image of that creep on top of her every time it assaulted his consciousness, which was about twenty-six thousand times a day. It was futile.

He'd tried his best to carry on, life as usual, put on a happy face and all that crap. He'd actually convinced himself he felt something akin to good that first day he'd returned to work. The bruises were yellowing nicely, a marked improvement from the welts resembling burst plums that had covered his face, his sides, his back, and even his knees the past few weeks. Nick was staying; he'd even snagged some new projects during Eddie's brief convalescence. Ikey was tenuously but undeniably tiptoeing back into the fold. Pizza Girl had confessed her love for Phil and he floated somewhere on cloud nine, ten, or eleven depending on the day. Owen and Allison were taking tandem baby steps toward a functional marriage. Life was good.

Except it wasn't. In spite of all of this, Eddie still found it next to impossible to climb out of bed each morning, to face every day. The morning sun through his window was like a slap to his still-sore face, salt on the gaping wound that was his newly broken heart. Instead of taking pains to maintain the constant five o'clock shadow that Janet always loved, he just let it grow now. He'd get really scruffy, shave it off when he couldn't stand the itch any more, then get scruffy all over again. His jeans were loose because few things whet his appetite any more; not pizza, not meatball subs, not burgers, not even beer for goodness sake. Fact was, just about everything that crossed his mind to eat, he'd eaten with her. Sandwiches from Murph's, the entire bar menu from Sully's, popcorn, pancakes (particularly painful to remember the happy morning-after breakfasts with Phil and Pizza Girl). Even Cheerios conjured her image. And peanut butter cookies. He'd shared all his favorites with her and now they were all tainted.

Getting through each day was simply an assault on his senses. He felt like he should carry a shield to fend off the painful memories; they were everywhere. Even though beer turned his stomach, he found that after he choked down three or four, often five or six he was numb enough to forget. And that's how he tended to fall into a restless, fitful sleep each night.

He'd only set foot in Sully's when he was certain she wasn't working. He'd send Nick or Ikey or Owen to do his recon and when he knew the coast was clear, he'd briefly belly up to the bar to drown his sorrows, as it were. But as that place housed so many memories – it was a veritable Eddie and Janet hall of fame - he didn't frequent it often at all. At Sully's, over a number of years, Eddie Latekka and Janet Meadows had become friends. When he let himself, the memories would come rushing back like a whirling, hard-driving fastball. Eddie thought back to the day he'd surprised both himself and Janet and asked her out, the day she'd verbally flipped him off after he stood her up for Allison's birthday barbecue, the day he'd confessed his feelings about her and kissed her for the first time. He smiled in spite of himself as he remembered the mortified look and blush that enflamed her cheeks when he caught her twirlin'. The homecoming kiss, their first fight over seeing her grandparents. It had all happened at Sully's.

But thankfully, Eddie could temper the piercing pain these memories stirred by calling up times at Sully's that didn't involve Janet. This was the only way he could actually set foot in the place that had fed him, body and soul, for the course of his adult life in the Ridge. He had to concentrate really intently, erect a mental roadblock to keep the pain at bay, but when he tried hard enough he could come up with dozens of Sully's memories that had nothing to do with Janet Meadows. It was _his_ place before it was _their_ place, and he clung tightly, white-knuckled, to that realization.

It was getting to be lunchtime. Eddie had come into the shop early; he liked getting there first so he'd have some time to pump himself up before he had to don a happy face for Nick and the customers that inevitably happened through the doorway each day. For some reason, the shop had been uncharacteristically quiet this morning, and for that Eddie was thankful. Nick wouldn't be in all day; it was the Commander's chemo day and Nick and Ronnie wouldn't leave his side on these days. Apart from a few deliveries, no one else had come in. He'd brought a PB&J from home and though he really had no gumption to eat it, it occurred to him that if he dug it out, at least he could justify hanging up the "Gone to lunch, back in 30 minutes" sign to ensure some silence for a while.

He shoved aside the stack of window catalogs, and stared for a while at the letter beneath them. The look of the envelope was imprinted on his brain, he'd stared at is so often and so long when he'd first gotten it. He'd finally buried it under the catalogs to douse its power and because he didn't know what else to do with it. It was a pale, celery green envelope graced with a gigantic Yoda stamp on the upper right corner. This had made him laugh in spite of himself when he'd received it. In fact, it was the one thing that saved that letter from being summarily chucked in the wastebasket. She must've really wanted to send it when she did because he'd seen that stamp sitting by her phone for weeks. They'd laughed about it. She'd gone to buy stamps and all they had were these obnoxious Star Wars commemorative ones, but she was desperate so she'd taken them. She'd used them on her bills: the Millennium Falcon, Princess Leia, a couple of storm troopers. But the Yoda one had sat and sat and sat. She'd since bought more normal stamps, but she held onto Yoda. He was guessing she must've gone through all the newer flag stamps and had only Yoda left when she'd finally finished writing her letter. Or maybe it was more intentional, an attempt to break the ice with a unified memory.

It was addressed to him at Best Friend Windows in her neat, large writing. He loved her writing. It was so legible, and so her. She wrote in this combination of printing and cursive that was both quirky and endearing. He was amazed how many places he'd found that writing in the past few days…on post-it notes attached to his bathroom mirror, his fridge, his desk at work. On a grocery list lying on the kitchen counter. On a paper towel tacked to the corkboard in the back room here at work. Notes that said everything from, "Morning, hot stuff! Had to run to work. Can't wait to see you tonight," to "Eddie Latekka is a huge dork!" (this in atypical huge, black, block letters in reference to some derogatory comment he'd made about her musical tastes as they'd fallen asleep one night. He'd awoken to find the offending music playing from the living room, Janet gone, the post-it stuck to her pillow). How could that woman have infiltrated every single aspect of his life in such a brief amount of time? Evidence of her was everywhere.

He stared at the writing now, at the lopsided postmark. He turned the envelope over and on the back flap was a lone, smudged "J." He couldn't recall a time the J wasn't smudged, and he knew what had smudged it. He could make out the dried remnant of a sole, splattered droplet at the edge of the J that spilled over the point of the back flap. What he didn't know was whether it was her tear or his that had left the stain.

He picked the envelope up and walked to the back room, grabbing the brown paper bag that held his sandwich from his desk drawer on the way. He plucked a Coke out of the fridge and sat down on the floor, in between the broom and the doorjamb. He propped his forearms on his thighs, gently holding the green envelope in both hands.


	2. Chapter 2

Meanwhile at Sully's, Janet was taking orders, filling drinks, replenishing ketchup and otherwise robotically but efficiently navigating the lunch rush as she had each day for the past two weeks since that awful day. That wrenching, sickening, grueling day of their break-up, if that is indeed what it was. She had yet to think back to that day without needing to consciously suppress the urge to puke.

She had confided the bare minimum to Sully, out of fairness and respect, so that he would know why she wasn't even close to herself these days. He'd reacted with characteristic empathy, giving her time off when she needed it, or letting her work more when she just needed to be busy. His kindness was why now, in the middle of the busiest lunch rush in recent memory, she was able to take a twenty-minute break in the back room. No one bothered her when she went back there; it was her safe haven when she couldn't fight back the tears any longer.

She closed the door behind her and let the floodgates open, amazed she had any tears left after the past fourteen days of incessant, gut-wrenching sobbing. Every bone, every muscle, every piece of skin and connective tissue in her body ached. She'd never really understood, before now, that heartbreak is a physical phenomenon, not just a metaphorical one. The pain was utterly unbearable at times. She'd be walking down the street and something would trigger a memory and the tears would start gushing from her eyes and her throat would close up and she would almost lose control. On a number of occasions she'd had to call Hannah, and sometimes even her grandmother to help settle her down, to tell her she would be OK, to talk her off the ledge. She would've gladly taken a blow to the head, a broken limb to the emotional agony she felt at times.

And nowhere was really safe for her. Around every corner, on every street, in every room of her own house lurked excruciating memories of the happiest times of her life. Even at the end of her marathon shifts, she could hardly get herself to turn the key in her back door. Her house was like a minefield, booby-trapped to re-break her heart at every turn.

There was the kitchen, where they'd so often made dinner, or eaten cereal in the morning leaning against the counter. They'd even made love once on the kitchen floor, after a particularly long movie night with Physical Phil and Pizza Girl after which they'd raced back to Janet's house in Eddie's truck, succumbing to their unmitigated need for each other right there on the cold linoleum.

The living room…where to begin? The TV, the couch, the stereo might as well have all been cordoned off like a crime scene, so much had gone on between them there. The spelling bee, On the Waterfront, breakfasts at her little table that followed sometimes hot, often sweet nights of passion, or of talking, of coming to know each other.

Her bathroom wasn't safe either. She had to buy herself all new toiletries and set them on top of her toilet because she couldn't open the medicine cabinet for fear of seeing his toothbrush, his deodorant, his razor. Then there was the shower. She hadn't yet washed or even moved the towel he'd used that morning, that last halcyon morning before their happiness had been crushed like a grape beneath a semi.

But no room hurt more than the bedroom. She hadn't brought herself to sleep in her bed since that tragic night with Rooster. She'd ripped the sheets from the bed and thrown them in the trash, closing the door behind her, leaving the bed naked and exposed and sinking in shame. Each night she sat up on her sofa with a glass or three of wine just thinking, remembering, and rehashing. Sometimes she'd flip through the TV channels over and over and over, hoping something would keep her attention. She might drift off to sleep for twenty or thirty minutes at a time; once she'd amazed herself by sleeping a solid three hours at once. But each time she'd wake up and the realization would hit her, again and again, like a ton of bricks. The vicious memories. The happy memories. The pain. Her mistakes.

Then there was music. Nothing was safe. Certainly not her beloved Bay City Rollers, not Foreigner, nothing. Anything with a melody sparked a memory. She'd made it a point to share all of her favorites with Eddie, so now they were all infected with pain - pain of happier times, and of what might have been. Besides classical music, heavy on the forlorn cello, which seemed to mimic and mirror her mood so well, there was only one song she could stomach, one song that brought her a minute shred of solace. She'd come across it at Hannah's a few days after D-day when she was helping Hannah sift through possible wedding music. Hannah had tried to let her off the hook, having by that time heard everything that had happened.

"Janet," Hannah had said, "we SO do not have to do this right now. I can't imagine anything more awful than listening to cheesy love songs when you hurt so badly you can hardly breathe."

But, ever the faithful best friend, Janet had convinced her it was OK. "You know what? It'll actually be a good distraction. Let's see what you've got." Hannah had been forwarding through a Coldplay CD, not able to remember who actually sang the song she was trying to find, when the haunting opening keyboard melody of "Fix You" filled the room. Hannah had jumped up and run upstairs to look for more CDs, and Janet just listened. Chris Martin seemed to be singing right to her, or for her maybe. She'd never been much for contemporary music, preferring classic rock and 80s oldies but goodies for the most part. But this song rocked her world, lyrically and musically. It was both a balm and an emotional emetic. It soothed and unleashed. She'd asked Hannah if she could borrow the CD, and she'd taken it with her. She would crank it up and listen to it over and over again sometimes in her car, sometimes lying on her living room floor. After the first two quiet verses, when the drums began in earnest with their rhythmic pounding, the tears would always come, as if something or someone was hammering on her soul.

It was at about two o'clock in the morning the night she'd discovered the song, having listened to it a few dozen times, that she'd had the idea of the letter. It was killing her that the whole story, her whole story, had not been heard. She'd shared the bare bones with Eddie that day in the hospital, but then the conversation had spiraled to its horrific conclusion before she'd really been able to get the whole thing out. She knew better than to try to approach Eddie now; she knew she didn't have the right. He'd made his feelings crystal clear. But she had to reach out, and had to try to explain herself. Not to the end of making excuses, but to the end of making amends.

So she'd written her heart out and, knowing she had to send it before she lost her nerve, she'd searched for a stamp. All she could come up with was the stupid, enormous Yoda stamp that had sat by her phone, wedged between her take-out menus and coupons for the past few weeks. Well, it seemed glaringly inappropriate given the content of the letter, but it was all she had. As she peeled it from the backing sheet and stuck it to the envelope, she smiled through her tears remembering how she and Eddie had joked about that damned stamp. Eddie, doing a frankly spot-on Yoda impression, had held the sheet up in her face as she stood over the stove scrambling eggs. "Jedi, making eggs you are, yes. Mm hmm." Janet had almost peed in her pants laughing. And since that morning, she certainly hadn't been able to bring herself to actually use that stamp to pay a stupid bill. Might as well use it now, she thought. At least it might bring a smile to his face.

She'd driven to the mailbox on the corner, pulled down the little door and, with tears in her eyes, let the letter fall in. As soon as she heard it hit the pile of mail below she let out a little moan. She could feel all the blood leave her face. She shouldn't have done that. Would it be too much? Would he think she was stupid? Would it make him even more irate? Was it desperate? Would he even respond? Oh God. But it was too late. What was done was done. It would take a felony to retrieve that letter now, and given Hannah's recent arrest Janet felt enough crime of passion had been committed lately. She'd followed her gut and only hoped that this time her gut was right. She'd lost all trust in herself. She no longer had a compass. What she'd done was so vile, so unlike her, so beyond her sense of what is right, good, and moral. Who was she?

All of these thoughts ran through her mind as she sat on the cold tile between the dust mop and bucket in the back room of Sully's on her "lunch" break. She knew that by now it had been well over a week since he'd gotten her letter. On one hand she hadn't expected a response, but on the other hand, why the hell wouldn't he respond? Was he that heartless? Or just that hurt? It had been a huge risk, sending the letter, but it had felt the right thing to do. She wiped her face with her sleeves and stood up, steeling herself to return to the lunch crowd, to her job, to what was left of her life.


	3. Chapter 3

Eddie turned the letter over a few times in his hands, stuck his finger in the open corner, took a deep breath, and with a good amount of force slid his finger through the envelope. He winced when he got to the end and inspected his finger, which now was the bearer of a whopping paper cut. It even bled. "That's a good omen," he thought to himself as he put his finger to his mouth to stop the bleeding. But he pushed on. He unfolded the papers before him, celery green like the envelope. He beheld a good number of pages that were covered with her funky script. The writing was bigger than normal and on most of the unlined pages it went slightly downhill; she must've been really exhausted when she wrote this. Confident his finger had stopped bleeding, and not really caring whether it had, he held the pages in both hands and began to read.

Eddie,

First, thank you for reading this. I mean, I know you probably weren't thrilled to see this come in the mail and I imagine you held onto it for some time before actually reading it. I don't blame you at all. I'm just glad you're reading it now.

And I suppose you wonder why I wrote a stupid letter instead of talking to you face to face. Well, for that there are many reasons. First, I really don't feel I have the right to talk to you, to approach you, or to initiate a conversation after what I did. You have every right to have reacted the way you did and I just really don't know what to do. But I'm going crazy and I had to do something.

I decided to write because there are some things I just really need you to know. Again, I know I don't have that right but I thought that at least if I wrote to you you could listen to me (or read me, I guess) when you were ready. And I think sometimes I express myself a lot better in writing than I do talking. I get all emotional talking. But this way I can measure my words and say what I really want to say without getting caught up in the moment. What I have to say to you is really, really important to me. And if you ever had any respect for me (not that you do any more and that's totally understandable), but if you ever did, I just ask that you keep reading.

I want to say I'm sorry but I'm not going to because it just isn't enough. Those words are hollow and meaningless, they do nothing to take away the hurt, and by uttering them I would somehow imply that I was bold enough to ask for your forgiveness. I am not that bold. What I will say is that what I did was so totally, completely, and off the charts wrong that it makes me sick. I don't know how to deal with it because I still can't believe I did it. Was it because I was heartbroken? Was it because I was insecure? Was it because I was so afraid of losing the very thing, the very person in the world that is most important to me that I panicked and did something to push you even further away so maybe I would hurt less? The answer to all of these questions is yes, but it doesn't matter. Those are just excuses and what I did has no excuse. I won't even to try to make one up.

All I want to do is try to explain to you where I was that day, in my head and in my heart. I never did get the chance to do that and it's killing me. It's not like I drove by you and Rory kissing and went off the deep end. There was so much more to it than that. I don't expect it to make a difference, I don't expect you to feel differently, and please know that by no means am I in any way blaming you. I just need to tell you.

This is going to sound crazy to you, but what more have I got to lose? That morning that everything happened, when we had breakfast before we both left to go to work, was probably the best morning of my entire life. And I guess no matter what happens from here out, I'm just so glad to know that even for one morning, for a few minutes really of my entire life, I knew true happiness. I have never felt as content, as confident, or as loved as I did that morning. I felt like the world was my oyster, like nothing could bring me down, like I knew why I'd been put on this earth in the first place. I felt like me, the real me, and like my life was so worthwhile. And it was all because of you. Waking up with you, eating cereal, kissing you good-bye, swatting your sweet ass – I felt like I had a life. When I told you to have a good day and you said, "You, too," I felt in my soul that you meant it. It was two words, but you meant it. I was on top of the world.

When I got to work, I was on cloud nine. Floating. Luminous. No sooner had I breezed through the door than Rooster had to be a total lead balloon. Looking back, it was almost like he couldn't wait to take me down a few notches. He told me right away that Rory was back in town. He and Sully then reminisced about all the lovely Eddie and Rory glory days in the Ridge. I felt deflated, but not beaten. I thought back to our morning, I found my core, our core, and I knew things would be fine.

I decided to call you then because I wanted to know if you knew she was in town, if you'd seen her yet. I didn't want to say anything, though, because I didn't want you to think I was worried or checking up on you. I wasn't. I really wasn't. I trusted you completely. But I just needed to tell you I was thinking of you, and to remind you I was there, always there, waiting for you.

A little while later, Rory came into Sully's. She actually remembered me, which I found amazing. She seemed really nice. She asked a lot of questions about how you were doing and said she'd seen you that morning. This was puzzling to me, hearing it from her instead of hearing it from you. She didn't let on in any way that she knew we were dating, so I assumed you hadn't told her. Then she asked if you were OK, because when the two of you'd talked earlier, she said you looked sad. What was that about? My heart sank again. I couldn't figure out what the hell was going on. Why hadn't you told me yourself? Why hadn't you called me back? Why hadn't you told her about us?

I agonized over what to do, how to feel, whether to worry. My gut was telling me two different things - that we were solid, that I had nothing to worry about, but also that you weren't being totally open with me. When you came into the bar later I immediately felt better again. I thought, thank God, finally, we'll get this out and talk it through. I suppose I should have just been a grown up and come right out and asked you. But part of me needed you to own it, to be truthful. So I waited for you to tell me. And I waited. And you didn't. Looking back, I should've just called you on it right then and there but all of the sudden I felt the floor open up underneath me. It was getting harder and harder to convince myself that we were fine, that this was nothing to worry about. I could feel my confidence sinking. And I got worried. Really worried.

I stewed about it the rest of the day, picked up my phone about fifteen times to call you but of course never did. And I kept hoping you'd call me, or come by again. I finally decided it was something that needed to come out face to face. I was getting pissed and scared but I was still holding onto a thread of hope that it was just a misunderstanding. That everything was fine. So I decided to come to your house that night so we could finally clear things up.

And when I drove by, I saw you two kissing. And I died, Eddie. I died inside. I had nothing left to stand on, nothing left to pin my hope on. I knew, I totally knew I'd lost you. I was mad, I was terrified, I was so hurt, I was numb, I was everything. I sat in my Jeep and sobbed for I don't know how long. I couldn't even drive home. When I finally did, I called the first person that came to mind and I asked him to bring liquor. Lots of liquor. So I drank and drank and drank (not that the liquor is an excuse – I don't mean it that way but truth is I did drink a ton), sick at myself for thinking what we had was real, for letting myself believe you could in any way love me when you had loved Rory who was so breathtaking, so nice, so amazingly tall, so confident.

I'm sick at what I did, Eddie. I don't even know how I let myself do that. That's not who I am. And I would give ANYTHING to undo it, to take it back, to do it differently. I've been bargaining with God, with the world, but I know I have to suck it up. Regret doesn't even come close to describing what I feel. I feel like I killed us.

And, since I've let it all out now, if you're still reading, I need to tell you one more regret I have. And this is a huge one. This is a regret of omission, of something I should've done but didn't. And this is not how I wanted to tell you this but at this point I'm afraid I'll never have the chance and it's something I've felt for so long but held onto, kept close because I was afraid. It's probably stupid of me to do this right now but it's what's in my heart. And if I've realized anything about myself that's positive, having lost everything else I was, it's that from this point on I just have to be honest. You have to know that I didn't tell you about what I had done when you were in the hospital because you were weak, or because I thought you'd be more forgiving. I told you then because I had to. There was no way I could keep it from you. I had to be up front. So I'll be up front now. I need to tell you something I've known for months. I've actually known it since you called me from New York when you went to get Owen. I knew it then, and I know it now.

The thing is, I love you, Eddie. I love you with everything that I am. I love you so much it hurts. I'm so sorry I didn't tell you before. I guess I just have to live with that now.

I'm sorry to have gone on and on. I just needed you to know.

And that was it. It wasn't even signed. The smudged J on the envelope was the byline. Eddie raised the letter up to touch his forehead, closed his eyes, and felt hot, stinging tears roll out of each eye. Soon he was racked with wrenching sobs. He yelled out a primal, guttural yell. Then he stood up and starting smacking the cinder block wall of the back room with his palm, teeth clenched, face scrunched, punctuating each slap with a pleading "Why? Why? Why?"

A rap on the front door startled him. Oh God, how long had he been back there? He hastily folded up the letter and stuck it in the back pocket of his jeans. He wiped his face on the sleeve of his flannel, took a deep breath, and chugged the remainder of his Coke.

He walked to the front of the store, relieved to see Ikey peering into the window. Eddie unlocked the door but then quickly turned his back after motioning Ikey to come in, hoping not to reveal the pain on his face.

Ikey had gotten a good glimpse of Eddie's face, though, and he couldn't help but notice his red eyes. "Hey, Eddie, what goes on?"

Eddie cleared his throat, "Hey, not much, I was just, ah, eating my lunch in the back. Sorry, I must not have heard you knock."

"Yeah, you ate already? That's too bad. I was kinda hopin' we could grab some grub, but that's cool. Since when you brown bag it?"

"I guess since things have gotten busier around here, man. It's just easier, you know?"

Ikey knew, all right. He knew Eddie would do just about anything to avoid running into Janet, even if it meant abandoning all his favorite lunch haunts, and dinner haunts, liquor store haunts, hardware store haunts, video store haunts. All haunts.

Ikey wasn't sure what was going on, he knew only the bare minimum of what had happened with Eddie and Janet, but he had a sneaking suspicion his friend was hurting pretty badly. But Eddie wasn't one to wear his heart on his sleeve and Ikey knew Eddie would ask for help if he needed it. For now, it was best to leave him be.

"All, right, well, maybe next time? You forget your bologna and cheese one day, you give me a ring, hey?"

Eddie coughed up a half-hearted smile. "You're on." As Ikey was just about to open the door to leave, Eddie stopped him, "Hey, Ikey, do me a favor?"

"Anything, dude."

"Would you go by Sully's and see if Janet's working? Just give me a ring and let me know?"

"Sure thing, bro." And with a flash of his dimpled smile he was off.


	4. Chapter 4

Ikey ambled into Sully's. It was fairly quiet now that the lunch rush had come and gone. A smattering of college kids sat in groups of two or three at a few different tables. In spite of the lack of customers, Janet was keeping herself busy refilling salt, re-stocking glasses, scrubbing nonexistent dirt. She spied Ikey as soon as he crossed the threshold. She gave him a nod, grabbed a glass and started to pour his favorite draft. Even in her gloom she was still a stellar bartender; she knew all the regulars' favorites without batting an eye.

Ikey stopped her mid-pour, having nearly reached the bar. "Hey, Janet, I'd love that but I can't. Still on Big Cat's clock, you know. Tick tock."

Janet gave a resigned smile. "Guess your old boss was a little more lenient, huh?"

"Yeah, true that. What goes on, Janet?" Ikey straddled a barstool and sat down.

"Oh, not much. You know, work, stuff like that. What brings you in if not the suds? A little late lunch, maybe?"

"Yeah, I could eat. I'll take a bacon burger and a Coke if you don't mind."

"I don't mind at all. Gives me something to do." Janet brought the order to the kitchen and returned to Ikey, pretzels in hand.

"You know, Janet, I don't really know what to say, but I guess I'll say I'm sorry, you know, about…"

Janet cut him off and smiled a completely fake, overly effusive grin. "Oh, yeah, thanks. I'm fine. You know, I, um…thanks." An awkward silence fell like a five-pound sack of flour between them. And while awkward, both could also feel a poignancy in the moment, each recognizing the other as a kindred spirit of sorts.

After a few uncomfortable seconds Janet couldn't help herself and blurted out, "How's Eddie?"

Ikey had a feeling this was coming, and while wanting to be true to Eddie, he knew Janet was good people and he couldn't lie to her. What happened between them was their business. Janet had taken good care of Ikey for a lot of years, pouring his drinks and watching out for him when he'd had one or eight too many. He had no beef with her. Plus, who was he to judge?

"He's not so good, Janet. He's not saying much, but he's not so good."

Janet didn't know if this made her feel good or bad. She simply nodded her head.

Ikey didn't want to get too sidetracked from his mission. After she brought him his food, Janet moved down the bar to keep restocking glasses. This is good, Ikey thought, get the info while she's a bit preoccupied.

"So Janet, you workin' a lot lately? I mean, every time I come in here you're here. You must be workin', like, every day or somethin'."

"Yeah, just about. I'm working lunches all this week, plus I told Sully I'd come back and do late nights Friday and Saturday with graduation coming up at the Duf. He needs the extra help and I'd rather be here than at home that time of night, you know?"

She looked so sad, Ikey thought to himself. Like her spirit had left her body or something, leaving a hollow shell in its place. Having gotten what he came for, he finished his food quickly and left a 50 per cent tip on the bar. He'd have left even more but he didn't want Janet to mistake it for a handout. Ikey knew from experience the distinct line between generosity and pity.

Out of the corner of her eye Janet saw Ikey stand up and lay a couple of bills down on the bar. She didn't move, but looked up at him and smiled a pained smile. "Take care of him, OK?"

Ikey thought he saw the beginning of tears starting in her eyes. He nodded. "Take care a you, OK?" Janet managed a small affirmative nod then had to look away, touched by Ikey's sensitivity.

Ikey walked out of the bar and once in his truck dialed Eddie. He got his voicemail. "Hey, mission accomplished. She works lunches all week plus late shift Friday and Saturday. Later."


	5. Chapter 5

As he was getting ready to leave work for the day Eddie finally looked at his phone. He'd gotten a call mid-afternoon but the shop had gotten busy and he'd put off checking his messages as long as he could, knowing the call was from Ikey. He got the message as he headed out to his truck. Walking out the back and locking the door still made him extremely skittish. He couldn't shake the dread that had enveloped him since those a-holes had beaten him up. It made him feel sick, and weak, that he tried to leave before dark every night, that he tried to leave with Nick as often as possible, that every time he opened the back door he would scan the alley, and open his truck door while perpendicular to, not facing, it, looking over his shoulder the whole time. It's not that he was afraid of Lausch, or Big Cat for that matter. It's almost like his body just couldn't forget. His fight or flight instinct would kick in despite his best efforts to quell it. He imagined his anxiety would fade over time, but it still bugged him. God help him if he had to see a shrink about all this shit.

Safely in his truck, he took off for home. Thankfully, when he got there Pizza Girl was over and she and Phil were watching Full Metal Jacket. They were on this kick of watching seminal directors' full bodies of work, and they were almost done with Stanley Kubrick. Eddie tried to slip by unnoticed, but that never seemed to work.

"Hey, Eddie," offered Phil cheerfully while pushing pause, "want to join us? Full Metal Jacket – we're just about to Sergeant Hartman's soliloquy…" Phil was nearly giddy.

"Hey, thanks. You know, I'm kind of beat. I think I'll just grab something to eat quick and head up. I've actually got some work to finish before tomorrow."

Liar, thought Phil. Eddie's hands were empty and he was wearing his usual dejected expression. "That's cool. We made Asian food in honor of tonight's movie. Help yourself to pad thai in the kitchen." Pizza Girl chimed in, "Yeah, it turned out super great. I mean, it's not exactly Vietnamese thus it's not totally authentic but it's still really good!" Perky did not even come close to describing that girl. It's almost like she was on a continuous drip of pop rocks or something. In that way she was sort of the antithesis to Phil, who tended to wallow. No wonder it worked.

Eddie, truly thankful that there was some real food to be had, so he didn't have to forage for Pop Tarts or frozen waffles for dinner yet again replied, "You know, I think I'll take you up on that. Thanks. Have a great night."

They just smiled back at him.

With a full belly and an even fuller mind, he lay down on his bed. He'd grabbed a few beers on his way out of the kitchen and they sat, already opened, on the floor next to his bed. Eddie drained them quickly, trying to dull the thoughts that invaded his head each night when the quiet descended like an overwhelming cacophony.

He took Janet's letter out of his pocket and read it again. God, that girl was good. Her letter really did have him thinking. He'd been subsisting on anger and pent up rage these last couple weeks and lying here now he felt a bit like he was mired in the doldrums, the wind having somehow turned a cold shoulder to his sails. While he hadn't been able to up until this point, he was starting to see a glimmer of what could have prompted her to do what she did. Not that he would ever excuse her for it. Rooster? Sex? Sex with Rooster? God. But looking back, he realized he'd been a little cavalier at the hospital when he'd confessed his kiss with Rory. In his head, since he'd stopped it and come clean, he was Teflon, man, in the clear. It actually made him wince now to think about Janet driving by and seeing all that go down. He _had_ been evasive to her that day, and he'd known damn well he was being cagey. Janet had a point. Having Rory back did stir up a lot of feelings for him and he did think for a while about what might've been. What maybe could be. Janet was too smart: she knew, she could just sense it. Sometimes he thought she knew him better than he knew himself. She'd said something to him that he'd never forgotten. Way back, before they first started officially dating. Something about how all the good in him gets lost in the shuffle of him being him. She even knew him then.

He'd never felt so conflicted. He'd told her to rot (ouch), but why was it that _he_ felt like the carrion on the battlefield of love? At the bottom of everything was hurt, and this was not an emotion that Eddie dealt with in a rational, healthy manner. How could she have? Why hadn't he been straight with her? How could she have? The ambivalence was going to kill him. How could he simultaneously ache for her and want to pummel her? He looked at the clock. 10:19pm. He'd been laying here thinking for over three hours. This couldn't go on anymore. He picked up his cell phone and dialed the one person who might have some answers for him.


	6. Chapter 6

Eddie knocked on the door. Owen, still dressed in his sport coat this late at night, opened the door to the house he used to share with Allison and enveloped Eddie in a stifling bear hug.

"Hey, O," Eddie began, his voice muffled on account of his head being pinned against Owen's corduroy shoulder, "thanks for letting me come by." Breaking free now, "I gotta say I'm a little confused though. I mean, I was expecting I'd get you at your apartment. I know I've kinda been in my own world lately but, have you moved back in with Allison?"

Owen clapped him hard on the back and turned to keep Eddie close to the front door. Almost in a whisper he said, "No, not quite. But you know we've been spending more time together. I come over every night now to help put the kids to bed, then she and I talk for a while. It's slow going, but it's going. I still go back to my place every night. We don't want to get the kids' hopes up yet, you know. Not until we've figured things out more."

Eddie smiled a tight-lipped grin. "I'm happy for ya, Owen. It's actually really nice to be back in this house again."

"Tell me about it."

As they walked into the kitchen, the smell of homemade chocolate chip cookies greeted Eddie's nose. Allison was standing over the stove, lifting perfectly shaped gooey blobs onto a cooling rack. Without even turning around she began to speak, "Hi, Eddie. It's really good to see you again. Connor's got a bake sale tomorrow and I'm just finishing up the last of these." She turned around with a plate of still-steaming cookies, which she proceeded to set on the kitchen table.

"Hey, Allison. Wow, I guess what they say is true – a woman's work is never done."

Allison smiled. Owen pulled out a chair at the table and motioned for Eddie to sit down, then walked over to the fridge and pulled out a couple of beers. "Allison keeps the fridge stocked for me," he volunteered with a dorky grin.

"Or, I just made a pot of decaf if you'd like, Eddie," Allison interjected. She always had been all Susie Homemaker and stuff.

"You know what? Decaf actually sounds great. Thank you."

Allison poured Eddie a cup and brought it to him at the table, along with a container of half and half, the sugar bowl, and a spoon. She grabbed Owen's hand as he made his way back from the fridge and gave him a chaste peck on the cheek. "I'm going to hit the hay. Good night, Owen. See you tomorrow night. Will you be here for dinner? Meatloaf night…" inflected with a seductive smile.

"Wouldn't miss it. Good night, Ali." Eddie looked away at Owen's use of his nickname for his wife. He'd only heard him call her that a handful of times and he felt a bit like he was trespassing on their sweet, intimate moment.

As Allison walked through the kitchen toward the stairway, she lightly laid her hand on Eddie's shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Good night, Eddie."

"'Night."

Once they knew she was safely upstairs, their conversation began in earnest.

"So, what's on your mind, my friend? What goes on with you and Janet?"

Eddie sighed, puffing out his mouth on the exhale. "That's just it, O. I don't have a clue. I mean, you know what went down, what she did. I just…I just feel like I need to move on but I can't, you know? As far as I'm concerned, what she did was unforgivable. But I can't stop thinking about her, like not for a minute. And the more I think of it, the more I know that I did something to kind of nudge her along that path, you know? I mean, I think she took it to the extreme, but I wasn't honest with her about Rory and she knew. She just knew."

Owen thought for a minute, measuring his response. "Yeah, I've been thinking about that some myself. I mean, don't get me started on the infidelity thing. No question it's a major cross to bear. But, with everything that's gone on with me and Allison, I've come to realize that she didn't just wake up one day and think, 'Hmm, I think I'll bang Ikey today.' You know? Our marriage hadn't been so great for a while. I was taking her for granted. We were taking each other for granted. She forgot she was in love with me, I think. And I didn't give her much reason to remember. It's kinda corny, but it does take two as they say."

Eddie nodded, and Owen continued, "Not that that's exactly what happened with you and Janet…"

Eddie cut him off now, "No, I know, and I don't want you to think that I think what happened with us is in the same league as what happened with you guys. You're married, you have kids for God's sake. I just…"

"No, I didn't mean it like that, Eddie. What you're going through is a huge thing. What I meant is it's not as if Janet gave a lot of thought to what she did. I'm willing to bet she gave it no thought at all actually – I'd bet it was pure, stinging, completely irrational emotional overdrive. Like reeling and falling down after you get punched in the gut. I mean, I'm not condoning it, but I'm thinkin' it was a one time mistake."

Eddie almost cut Owen off, getting a bit creased at him for excusing Janet. But he thought better of it; he'd come to listen and learn.

Owen continued. "It's complicated stuff. You know, so many people told me to leave Allison. Like, adultery is just a deal breaker and there's no going back. Now that we're trying to work things out, I think people must think I'm soft, or desperate."

Eddie was shaking his head, a disgusted look rumpling his face, "Who thinks that? Has somebody said that…"

Owen just smiled. "Ah, simmer down, Champ. No one in particular. It's just this vibe I get. Or I'll overhear people talking about me at work, saying crap like, 'If that ever happened to me she'd be out, man. Don't let the door smack your sorry ass on the way out, slut!' But you know what? People don't know what the hell they're talking about. Until you've walked in my moccasins, you got no business conjecturing."

"I hear ya, man. I hear ya. And for what it's worth, I never thought that about you guys. I don't think any of us did. I mean, I know I was really hard on Ikey. What he did was the lowest of the low. But I've never judged you, O."

"I know, Buddy." They sat there in silence for a while, Owen sipping his beer, Eddie gulping his coffee. They'd polished off the entire plate of cookies, sated. Eddie knew it was getting late and they both had to work tomorrow. But he hadn't asked the most important question yet. He didn't want to ask it, really. To ask it was to walk down a road he didn't know if he wanted to walk down. It implied more emotional investment than he thought she deserved.

"So, how did you forgive her?" God, please let there be an easy answer, Eddie thought. He'd give anything to know. Couldn't some know-it-all have written a book about this shit? Like, "The Idiot's Guide to Having Your Girlfriend Pork Another Guy?"

Owen looked off and thought for a minute. "You know, Eddie? I don't know that I have. And I don't mean that like I'm holding this big grudge or something, or keeping some cosmic scorecard. I just kinda think maybe forgiveness is overrated. I mean, forgive and forget? That's a bunch of bullshit. I'll never forget. Neither will she. Forgiveness implies that one person has power over another, and I just don't see how that can work. The way I look at it, it's more a matter of accepting it. And that's actually harder than forgiving. Instead of making her into this soul-murdering monster who deserves my mercy, I try to look at her as someone who made a mistake. Don't get me wrong, it was a doozie. But I know in my heart she's sorry. And I know she's changed because of it. People can change, Eddie. You can't _make_ them change, but they can change if they want to. I think Allison has. I just realized I still love her and want a life with her. I don't know if you call that forgiveness, but it's all I got right now."

That wasn't quite what Eddie was expecting to hear. But it certainly was food for thought.

"OK, O, but how do you get the thought of him on top of her out of your head?"

Owen smiled a sorrowful, knowing smile. "That, my friend, is a tough one. I mean, we tried that with the Infidelity Tour. But I can't say that I've totally extinguished that awful vision from my brain. But I guess, if you make the decision to try to move forward with each other, then you start making new memories together that push those awful old ones toward the back. The sting does fade, my man."

Owen was yawning now, but he'd certainly never say anything knowing his friend needed him. But Eddie'd gotten what he'd come for. He stood up and pushed his chair in. "Thanks, Owen."

"Hey, any time, Buddy. Glad someone can profit from my misery…"

"No, Owen, I mean it. Thank you. And, at the risk of being kinda too little too late, I'm really sorry you had to go through all you have, man. I thought I understood before, but I didn't know shit. I'm really sorry." With that, Owen came at him in his hug stance but Eddie ducked and darted around him.

"Hey, hey, no more of that. I know I'm kinda hard up and all but I can't go around hugging guys for Christ's sake. People are really gonna start to talk."

They walked out of the house together, Owen locking the door behind him.

Back at home, Eddie still didn't sleep that night. But for the first time in three weeks he felt the dawning of a little clarity. When the sun started through his window the next morning, its slap stung a tiny bit less than it had the day before.


	7. Chapter 7

Janet teetered at the edge of sleep. She'd wake for a second, then drift back off. She didn't really want to wake up, she felt so tingly and warm and cozy inside. In the distance she could hear some type of rumbling. It seemed far away. It was puzzling. It sounded like a garbage truck. Her sleepy face contorted, quizzically, as she thought to herself, "Isn't it Sunday? No wonder garbage men make such great coin." She didn't wake up fully, though, and was able to will herself back to sleep. But even in her haze she could feel something distinctly hard against her back. It kind of hurt. Yet it made her happy. Really happy.

She opened her eyes momentarily and at the same time saw and felt Eddie's arm around her. A content and not-just-a-little aroused smile teased the corners of her mouth. She felt Eddie stir a bit and soon his head was right behind hers. They were laying, spoon-like, in her bed. She had a giddy, sneaking feeling it was going to be one of _those_ mornings. It hadn't happened often, but the few times it had were branded into her memory. Without fail it happened on mornings after they'd been together following some duration apart; after a couple days of opposite work schedules, or after one or the other had spent a weekend away. It was like Eddie had really missed her, like he couldn't get enough of her and just needed to feel her.

She knew he was awake now. She could sense it, feeling his breath on the back of her neck. For the most part she wasn't a huge fan of morning sex. It killed her not to be able to brush her teeth before getting that close to another living thing. Plus, her body didn't seem to respond the same way in the morning. Things took longer. But she'd come to learn that morning was Eddie's hands-down favorite time. And she'd come around.

They'd made love the old fashioned (and Janet's favorite) way the night before and had fallen asleep before either found the gumption to put a shred of clothing back on. So, given that they were both laying under the crisp white sheet buck naked, Eddie's intentions were pretty clear at the present moment. On these mornings, very few words passed between them. They didn't need to talk.

Never having been much for organized religion, Janet found these mornings to be the closest thing to a spiritual awakening she'd ever experienced. These mornings, she felt closer to Eddie than she'd ever felt to another human being in her entire life. Having made up for more or less a lifetime of celibacy in the preceding few months, Janet was amazed at how sex had changed her life. And how many tones it could take. There was physical, hungry sex (manifested on the kitchen floor, in Eddie's truck, even one time in Hannah's bathroom). There was sweet sex, usually at night in Janet's bed when they were both exhausted but wanted to be together. There was make-up sex – hot and heavy. Then there was organic sex. This was the type of sex that Janet found most haunting, in a good way, most intense. It was sex that happened without planning, without talking about it. It just was. It may spring forth after a quiet, non-erotic night on the couch when, after the news was over, they simply started kissing. Gently and softly. And after a while they would just need to be together and they would be. This is what felt spiritual to Janet. It was life-affirming. This particular brand of morning sex was like that.

It had taken her by surprise, startling but pleasant surprise, the first time it had happened and truth be told she hadn't been the same since. In her limited sexual experience she'd never really imagined it could be done in this position. But Eddie had shown her the way, as he had with many things of this nature. Their considerable height difference seemed to work to their advantage, as did Eddie's overall athletic prowess. His quarterback days may have been a decade in the past, but he was still pretty damned lithe. Geometrically, the angle worked. His body could almost cup hers, the right places touching the right places.

Janet could feel Eddie's hand reach up to stroke her face. Laying here, her back to his front, she closed her eyes and let herself feel his every move. He propped his head on his hand and with his other gathered her hair together, lifting it off her neck. He planted a sweet, soft, gentle kiss there and every synapse in Janet's body was now alight. She never needed coffee on these mornings. Each cell in her body was awake. Wide awake.

Now he started to draw almost imperceptible concentric circles on her shoulder and down her arm, so gently it almost tickled. But this was no time to laugh. Laughter usually factored pretty heavily into their sex life, from their very first time forward. It was part of what she loved about him - he was playful, attentive, creative, and funny and they quite simply had the best time in bed.

But on these mornings the whole tenor was different. Eddie was somehow different. More serious, more pensive. She didn't get to see this Eddie often and she had a hunch no one else did either. This was vulnerable Eddie. She had more familiarity with a multitude of other Eddies: cocky Eddie, funny Eddie, drunk Eddie, certainly sweet Eddie, often concerned Eddie, sometimes pissed Eddie, and then, of course, there was sexy Eddie. Sexy Eddie was always kind of lurking around. But vulnerable Eddie didn't show up too often. When he did, she knew that actions spoke much louder than words. She knew in her bones to tread lightly and give him what he needed because she had a nagging suspicion that she was one on a very short list that vulnerable Eddie showed himself to. Vulnerable Eddie was like a chocolate chip cookie a few minutes out of the oven, or like a piece of Freshen-Up gum: a little chewy on the outside, soft and sweet on the inside.

She heard him moan a bit from time to time. She reached her top arm back over her shoulder and grabbed the scruff of his neck, pulling his head into her shoulder, clenching her fist through his hair. His arm tightened around her body and pulled her to him as much as possible. His body was plastered up against hers now, and she felt it again, something incredibly hard against her spine. This sent a rush through her and she knew she couldn't hold out much longer. She turned her head back toward him slightly. Over her shoulder she muttered his name, breathy and pleading. "Eddie…" So softly she didn't know if he'd heard her.

He heard her. Without letting go of her he scooched down the tiniest bit. And almost instantly, effortlessly, he was there, inside, eliciting an intense moan of pleasure from her. He tightened his grip on her and gently touched his forehead to the back of her shoulder. They lay like this with no sound, no words, no movement, for some time. It was in this moment that Janet thought she could feel her soul touching his. This was a moment that would only ever be known to her and Eddie. It was that private, that sacred. Even though she and Hannah told each other almost everything, (Janet had even come clean about desecrating Hannah's bathroom), this she kept for herself. Truthfully, how could she even try to describe this feeling without sounding totally cheesy and off her rocker? There were no sufficient words.

The handful of times they'd made love this way it was never hurried or rough or particularly hungry. It was tender. Slow. Deep. Organic. Janet had entirely different feelings now than when she could see Eddie's face, kiss his lips, or maybe dig her nails into his back while they made love. But somehow this was almost more personal. She didn't have to see him. She felt him and that was all that mattered.

He started to move slowly, extremely slowly. She felt the hair from his leg against the back of her thigh. They moved together, really, a slight tandem ripple, almost like blades of grass waving in the wind. Eddie stroked the front of her body up and down and not so much kissed but brushed his lips against whatever patches of skin he could reach without moving. It was as if they were glued together. Sometimes he would stop moving altogether and they would just lie there. Feeling each other. Being with each other.

Then Janet heard a sigh, or really more of a loud breath escape Eddie's mouth and he began to move again. God, he felt so incredibly good to her. Their bodies had become sticky with perspiration; Janet looked down at her chest and saw it had flushed bright red. She felt him breathing more heavily, his chest expanding more against her back, the air escaping his nostrils with greater velocity. Now his mouth was open against her shoulder blade and he pulled her into him as tightly as humanly possible and for a few seconds Janet heard no sound. She felt his body shudder and heard one stunted word softly but surely escape his mouth. "Janet…" followed by a sweet whimper. Then there was nothing more than the sound of rhythmic, contented breathing.

After a few minutes just lying there, not moving, Janet felt Eddie's arm move. She knew what was coming next. His hand made its way from its perch at the base of her neck along her shoulder, down her side, to her hip, then around the front of her. Eddie began to kiss her neck again, a little more aggressively this time, while his hand went to work under the sheets. She felt her body stiffen and within no time the sensation was beginning to build. Now it was her turn to breath faster. She was so close, and so happy, and so fulfilled, and so in love.

Just as she was right at the edge, she was suddenly aware again of the grating, churning sound off in the distance. "Oh God, not now," she thought to herself. How long could it possibly take them to empty the garbage on her little street? What the…

Then she woke up. For real, on her couch, the remote control jammed against her back. The sound she heard wasn't a garbage truck but the coffee maker, badly in need of a good cleaning, churning and struggling at its preprogrammed time to spit out her morning salvation. "Must be 7:00," she said to no one but herself. Her body was still literally quaking from her dream. She was drenched with sweat. She pushed her afghan aside, sat up and looked herself up and down. She was still in her stinky work clothes from the night before, an empty wine glass and a half-eaten bag of cheese puffs sitting before her on the coffee table. A pathetic, almost sardonic tableau.

And then, like every morning for the past twenty-two, it all came rushing back to her. Eddie wasn't behind her, part of her. He'd cast her off like yesterday's trash. She was alone. Slightly hung over, smelly, face tear-stained and drool-encrusted, body engorged like a freaking ripe papaya. She screamed a long, tortured scream, then in the reverberating silence thought to herself, "Why do I have to keep having these goddamn sex dreams? Aren't I going through enough? Even my dreams have to taunt me with what I can no longer have!" She was miserable, she thought. She had done everything in her power, expended all her energy pushing the memories down, trying to relegate them to the recesses of her brain but they kept popping up consciously and unconsciously. She spent every day and night in a horrific limbo, damned like Perseus to relive the same brand of torture every single day. Was it Perseus? No, wait, that was Harry Hamlin in Clash of the Titans. Who had his liver eaten out every day by the vulture – Prometheus? Oh God, she couldn't even get an analogy right. For the first time she wished she'd paid more attention in English class. Who knew that shit could have any modern-day relevance?

No matter what games she tried to play with her mind, her body would not let her forget.

The tears came now, hot and stinging as usual. As soon as they'd amassed enough volume to begin their trickle down her cheeks she pawed them away. She was getting pissed now. She realized right then and there she could not spend another day like this. Sitting up straight now, palms on her thighs and taking a deep cleansing breath, she uttered aloud, "Enough."

She got up, and with that there was no stopping her. She was a whirling dervish, intent on reclaiming her life. Her house was a pit and this she could abide no longer. For the first time since the morning after that stinking, filthy, soul-robbing night, she braved her bedroom. She flung open the door, grabbed fresh sheets from the closet, doused the bed with Lysol spray, and quickly and expertly made the bed. She picked up the few pieces of clothing dotting the floor…the bra Rooster had removed and flung, ditto the underwear, a sweatshirt that had fallen from the hook next to the dresser, the t-shirt Eddie had left on the floor on his side of the bed. This, of course, gave her pause. She lifted it to her face and inhaled deeply. Yep. L'eau d'Eddie. The tears came again but she would not be defeated. She shook her head, balled up the shirt, and deposited it and the other fabric detritus in the laundry room hamper.

She continued at this pace, full of vim and vigor, until the apartment was spotless. She then showered, dressed, forced herself to eat a bowl of shredded wheat, poured her coffee to go, and was out the door to work.

On the way to Sully's, she turned on the radio in the Jeep for the first time in a long time, no longer afraid that whatever song playing might conjure a bittersweet memory. Much to her delight (and, frankly, relief) the whiny, acidic voice of Axl Rose assaulted her ears. Yes! "Sweet Child of Mine" had absolutely NO connection to Eddie Latekka whatsoever. It was a song from her youth, when she was footloose and fancy free. Well, as fancy free as she had ever been. The day was off to a good start. Today would be different. No more Janet Shrinking Violet.

She had to get on with her life. One way or the other. But she also had to know where things stood. She'd poured her heart out to Eddie in that letter and damned if she would rot (to use Eddie's kind word) in her misery any more. Yes, she'd made a mistake. Yes she was insanely, achingly filled with regret. But enough was enough. She would be ignored no longer. Eddie had cast her off but there had been no closure. She was assuming they were over, but a sizeable portion of her heart held onto a thread of possibility. She had to know what was what. She couldn't keep her head buried in the sand.

It was Sunday. She'd be done with work around 4:00. She knew that on Sundays, when she and Eddie weren't together, which of course they weren't now, Eddie usually spent the evening with Phil. Phil might cook, or Eddie might get subs. But they'd hang and watch inane guy crap on TV. So, if his habits persisted, she should find him at home after her shift. She didn't want to call. She didn't want him to have the opportunity to perseverate about her visit all day or, worse, refuse to see her. She'd just show up. It was settled.

32 Gelson. After work.


	8. Chapter 8

Eddie had hung out at home all day. He'd read the paper with Phil in the morning, he'd taken care of some loose ends from work, he'd channel surfed away much of the afternoon. Sundays had always been long, and the last few weeks they'd seemed interminable. Motivation to do anything noteworthy just eluded him. He and Phil were planning on getting meatball subs and watching 60 Minutes later, their long-standing Sunday night ritual. They told everyone else that they watched Sports Center; it was their little geeky secret. It was a goofy custom but to Eddie the routine provided comfort. It was nice, in a world that had been turned upside down, to have something to count on. Growing up his parents had always watched the boys Sunday nights – Mike Wallace, Morley Safer, Harry Reasoner, Ed Bradley. Eddie had always cringed at the tick tick tick of the stopwatch, a harbinger of the sixty minutes of boredom to come. But now he almost looked forward to it. The faces had changed but the format hadn't. It was reliable. He did miss Ed Bradley, though. He was a badass, cool before his time. The earring. Righteous.

Eddie had passed much of the day, and the few preceding it, deep in thought. His conversation with Owen had sparked conclusions and emotions heretofore not in evidence. He'd felt the rapier edge of his anger dull somewhat. He'd managed to find the tiniest shred of empathy for Janet and what that one fateful day must have been like for her. He hadn't just kissed his old girlfriend. He'd had some pretty impure thoughts about her, about their past and the possibility of their future. His act of contrition with Janet had been half-assed and half-hearted. He realized this now. Yet the pain of her transgression was still miserably fresh. That punishment just did not fit the perceived crime she'd concocted in her head.

So he'd come to these conclusions but knew not what to do next. He'd carried her letter with him in his back jeans pocket since opening it a few days ago. She'd really put herself out there, brave girl. He imagined she deserved a reply of some sort. But he had loitered at the crossroads of what to do next. He'd fruitlessly waited for some type of sign. Either he was pretty dense or no sign had come.

Late in the afternoon he felt increasingly restless. He had to get out of the house for a bit.

"Hey, Phil, I've got some stuff I gotta do. I'll bring home subs, though. Need anything else while I'm out?"

"Can't think of anything, Eddie. We're on for Sixty Minutes?"

"We are. I'll be back long before then."

"All right, man. Take care, huh?"

"Always do."


	9. Chapter 9

Janet's shift passed quickly. The lunch rush was longer than usual as it was graduation weekend at the Duf and scads of families were in town. The beer had flowed, the burgers had grilled, the fries had fried. Janet hadn't even taken a real break. She'd managed to pee twice and that had been it. As she wiped up the bar one last time before leaving she felt the butterflies descend with a fury. T minus fifteen minutes or so and counting. She took her rank bar towels to the back and thought a minute. "I don't necessarily have to do this right now, do I? It's been a relatively good day. Maybe I could actually keep the positive feelings going, go over to Hannah's, have a glass of wine and catch up. Do something remotely pleasant for a change." But she'd made a promise to herself that morning and, though tempting, she knew she couldn't let herself down. It was part of her new paradigm: honor yourself. This wouldn't be fun, and she fully dreaded that she may well be attempting to pry open this door with Eddie, only to have it slammed in her face, locked and deadbolted, once and for all.

She walked to the front of the bar and looked out the window, attempting to muster the courage she needed for the task at hand. She stared at the empty parking space that Eddie's truck had so often inhabited. She hadn't seen it there in three weeks now. He'd obviously been avoiding her, even though he must have gotten her letter. She felt her courage waning a bit.

"He ain't there," she heard someone say from behind her. She turned around to see Sully standing there, arms crossed, an unmistakable look of pity on his face.

"I know. I was just making sure there wasn't a busload of drunk grads pulling in before I leave you here in the lurch!"

"Go home, Janet. You did a great job today. Real fine. I know it was a madhouse and I know you didn't get a break," his voice trailed off as he handed her four twenty-dollar bills.

"Sully, I already pulled my tips for the day."

"I know, Honey. We did real good today, though. Since you didn't take your breaks, and you've been here nine hours, consider it OT."

Janet reluctantly accepted the money, knowing it would be impossible to talk him out of it. "Thank you," she said with a true, authentic smile.

"Good to see that smile again. You talk to him yet?"

"No, not yet. But it's OK." Janet looked away. She couldn't do this right now. She made herself yawn. "I'm kinda beat. I think I'll get going. See you Tuesday?"

"Ok, Kid. Get outta here. And Janet?"

"Yeah?"

"Just talk to him."

With that she headed to the back to grab her jacket and purse. She'd parked out in the back alley today, which she always did on days she knew it would be busy. She didn't like taking up prime parking real estate out front when it was just as easy to park out here. She put her jacket on and headed out the door, pushing it open with her elbow as she rifled through her purse for her keys. Head down and getting pissed that she couldn't find a set of keys in such a tiny purse, she slammed headlong into a flannel-covered chest.

Eddie recoiled only slightly at the impact. Having Janet's sweet, curly head at his chest triggered an old instinct in him and his arms came up in a hug around her. As soon as his head caught up with his body, though, all the hurt came flooding in and his arms dropped flaccidly back at his sides.

The rejection not missed on her, Janet took a step back, finally looking up at him. Oh no, she thought. He looks amazing. Shit. He was a feast for her eyes: flannel, stubble, big brown eyes, long dark eyelashes, crease bisecting his lower lip that she loved to kiss, so tall, oh no no no. Against her will tears started brimming in her eyes. "Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry," she started a silent mantra that somehow, mercifully, worked.

They stood there looking at each other for what seemed like an hour. In reality it was probably about eight seconds, but the world did seem to stop for a time.

Janet started to panic. This wasn't what she had planned. What is he doing here? All of the confidence and swagger she'd worked so hard to build up that morning was osmosing out her skin. She tried to talk herself down in her head. "OK. Not the way I thought this would go, but I guess this can happen here. In an alley. Sure, why not?"

Eddie's mind was racing as well. It was funny how he'd almost forgotten what she looked like. It had only been three weeks but he'd thought about her so long and so hard that the image of her face had somehow become amorphous in his head. He'd forgotten her features, her gorgeous eyes, strong eyebrows, full, soft lips. He knew from Ikey's recon that she'd worked a long shift and by looking at her it was obvious. When he'd almost hugged her he'd noticed two wooden coffee stir sticks peeking out from her hair which was swept up in a makeshift twist, wispy curls escaping every which way. He knew that her hair bugged her when she got hot. She usually kept a ponytail holder in her pocket, but on one other occasion she'd had to resort to stir sticks. Eddie had found it incredibly arousing that night long ago when he'd effortlessly plucked the stir sticks out and all that hair had come tumbling down.

She had not a trace of lip gloss left and her face was pale. But she looked staggeringly beautiful to him. This was going to be exponentially harder than he'd thought. Why had he come here again?

"Hi," they said, in unison, each smiling embarrassed, humbled smiles and looking away.

Then Janet took the lead. No more Janet Shrinking Violet. "What are you doing here, Eddie?" she asked, not at all in an angry way, just inquisitively.

"I, ah, I came for some meatball subs."

Janet looked puzzled. "Last time I checked Sully didn't have any subs on the menu."

Eddie laughed at himself, knowing what he'd just said would've made no sense to her. "No. I mean, yeah I know. I, um, was headed to Murph's to pick up dinner for me and Phil but I, ah, ended up here I guess."

Janet nodded, still not totally following. "Why'd you park back here in the alley?"

"Well, truthfully I thought you might be getting off work about now and I didn't want to make a big scene."

Janet felt her heart leap, though for good or for awful she wasn't sure. He'd found out her schedule. He'd come to see her. On purpose. But for what?

"You know, it's kind of funny," she began, "I was actually on my way to come see you."

"Yeah?" Oh no, Janet thought, not the "yeah." For some reason she LOVED how he said "yeah." The way his voice always went up at the end in that sexy, flirtatious way. He'd just said it like that. Like he was happy she was coming to see him. Oh, man.

"Yeah. I felt like…well, it seemed time to…I wanted to…" Crap. She was totally verklempt.

"Can we find somewhere to talk?" Eddie interrupted.

"I'd like that." Janet looked around. "Um, I'd kind of rather not go back in there," she said, looking over her shoulder at Sully's.

"I hear ya. We could get coffee?"

"That would be good… but, oh, it's Sunday evening and I think they're closed."

Eddie turned around and started walking toward his truck. He pulled down the tailgate, sat down on one side of it and looked up at her. "This work?"

"Works for me," she answered and hopped up to sit beside him. Janet was actually relieved that this would be the setting for their first conversation since that day. Eddie's truck had always felt like such a safe place to her. And, in a way, she'd always found it easier to speak her true feelings when she didn't actually have to look someone in the eye. This way they could sit side by side and say what was really on their minds. They didn't have to see the pain in each other's eyes. They could just talk.

Eddie pulled his phone from his pocket and looked at Janet, "Could you give me one sec? Phil's expecting me and I should talk to him quick."

"Absolutely, Eddie. No problem."

Eddie dialed his home number and Phil answered. "Hey, Man, I'm still comin' but I might be a bit late. Can you TiVo? Thanks. See you soon."

Janet smiled. "Sports Center night?"

"Something like that."

"If you have to go, Eddie, that's totally..."

"No, Phil's totally cool. This is important, Janet."

Janet started to search for the right words to kind of ease into the conversation. But Eddie beat her to it.

"I got your letter." So much for easing in, Janet thought.

"Yeah?" she said back, mimicking Eddie's sexy "yeah" inflection but nervous as all hell.

"Yeah. I," exhaling, "and I'm sorry it's taken me so long to respond. I just…I couldn't open it for a while. I actually just read it a few days ago. It was gutsy, Janet, and it gave me a lot to think about."

"Yeah. I'm sorry if it was dumping. As soon as I mailed it I could've died. As I wrote it I felt so strongly and once I mailed it I just hoped it wasn't too much."

"I'm glad you sent it. I needed to hear it. Gave me some perspective." Eddie sat there a minute, hands clasped, twiddling his thumbs. A smirk suddenly came to his face. Janet could see his countenance change out of the corner of her eye. "Liked the stamp, too."

Janet laughed a nervous but real laugh. When Janet laughed she tended to laugh silently and jiggle up and down. The truck bounced ever so slightly with her laughter and soon Eddie was laughing, too. The shock absorbers conducting Janet's laughter reminded them both of that stupid get-to-know-you game they'd played as kids where they'd put their heads on each others' bellies and one person starts laughing and pretty soon the entire room is cackling. They laughed more than the situation warranted, letting their nerves get the best of them. But at least the ice had been officially busted wide open.

Janet tried to talk but a laugh came out her nose in a snort. After a minute she finally composed herself enough to speak. "I'm sorry about the stamp. I just, I wasn't quite in a rational state of mind. I had to send it before I lost my nerve and it was the ONLY stamp I could find. I turned my whole house upside down, but Yoda just stared at me, daring me to do it."

Eddie was still smiling and his body had relaxed a bit. He let his legs fall open slightly and his knee touched Janet's. With that touch they both felt their bodies light up like bottle rockets on the fourth of July. But as quickly as he'd relaxed Eddie tensed up again and pulled his leg back, not wanting to cross the invisible line of demarcation that divided the tailgate.

Eddie was serious again now. "Janet, about what you said in the letter…"

"You mean, that part?"

Smiling, "Yeah, I mean that last part. I felt the same way."

Felt? Janet coughed like the wind had been knocked out of her. Felt? Not feel? Damnit! Then in a pep talk to herself, "It's OK, Meadows. What did you expect? That he came here to express his undying love for you, to tell you he just wants to let bygones be bygones? Just let him finish." Instead of saying anything she just nodded.

"I did. And I should've said it long ago, too. I guess I was scared. It's been a really long time since I've felt that way about someone."

Janet had to suppress her inclination to start making a case for herself, for them. All these words flooded her brain, words like "But Eddie, it's still there. I still love you and if you loved me, too, we can get through this. Tell me how…tell me what I can do to make this right. I'll do anything. Rooster meant, means nothing to me…absolutely nothing. I love you. I want you. Let's try to make this work." But the words all remained unsaid, tethered to the back of her throat like a pit bull on a choke chain. She went with what her gut was telling her, which was to let it lie. To just hear him out. She'd done her explaining in the letter. Eddie was smart. He could read. If she knew him at all she knew he'd probably read it at least 50 times. In spite of wanting to hug him, kiss him, beg, plead, she knew that now was not the time to push. Walking on eggshells was more than appropriate at this juncture.

"And, Janet, I really need to tell you I'm sorry, too. What I said to you in the hospital was out of line. I was really hurting, there, I"

Janet cut him off, "Eddie, please, you have absolutely nothing to apologize for, I totally…"

Eddie cut her right back off, "Janet, please," sounding ticked, "Will you let me finish? You got to pour your heart out in your letter. Can I just say this?" And with that he looked over at her for the first time since they'd sat down. The look on her face spoke volumes. Her eyebrows were furrowed, her lips kind of pulled in between her teeth. It was a look of caring, of sorrow, of understanding, of complete empathy. She knew he was hurting and it hurt her to know it. That's what her look said. She nodded very slightly, encouraging him to continue.

"Thank you. In that hospital bed I was beat up, Nick had just told me he was leaving, I was pissed at myself about the whole Rory thing, and then when you, the one person I needed the most at that moment, came in and said what you did, I just blew. I'd take ten beatings from Lausch and the boys over how I felt when you told me what you did. I was dying inside and I wanted you to die inside too."

Tears formed in the corners of Eddie's eyes but they didn't make it any further. He took a deep breath. He knew he didn't need to start railing on her again. She had explained herself to him, and he was trying to do the same for her.

"Most of all I'm so sorry that I put you in that position. I mean, I can't condone what you did, in fact I can't even think about it without wanting to puke…"

"Me either."

Eddie exhaled a giggle. "But you were right. Something was going on with me that day. Seeing Rory brought up a lot of feelings for me. I tried to pat myself on the back a little too hard for taking the high road when it mattered. But I did kiss her. I did think about her all day. And I know you tried to get through to me and talk about it and I didn't let that happen. I made it not a big deal in my head, but I know now it was a really big deal to you."

Janet felt that Eddie had said the bulk of what he'd wanted to. It felt like it might be OK for her to talk now, so she did. "Can I ask you something?"

"Shoot."

"Why were you sad when you talked to Rory that day, Eddie?"

He looked completely puzzled. "I have no idea what she'd be referring to. And I certainly had no idea she'd gone to talk to you. When I read that in your letter I was totally floored. I can't put those things together."

"Have you asked her?" Janet hoped he couldn't sense the mounting hope in her voice, and the wince in her face as she awaited his response.

"I haven't talked to her since that night."

YES! Janet could've done a happy dance, and she did in her head. Janet had been so insanely worried that Eddie had gone running back to Rory. She hadn't heard anything through the town rumor mill, but she'd been petrified nonetheless. In fact, Janet's painfully hot sex dreams had duked it out in her subconscious with ghoulish nightmares of Eddie and Rory screwing like bunnies. Confirmation that they hadn't was so sweet. She let herself relish in that fact for a moment.

"What about you and Rooster?" So much for relishing.

Eddie really didn't think there was anything between them. He hadn't even really felt jealousy for Rooster. Just plain loathing. He knew Janet and Rooster had been friends forever but he'd never once thought there was anything beyond that. Eddie knew about their kiss during the whole dry run debacle, and he'd had his fun at Rooster's expense. And while Eddie had certainly never thought highly of the dweeb, he thought even less of him now knowing he'd gotten Janet drunk and taken advantage of her when she was down and out. But he knew with all his heart that Janet had absolutely no amorous feelings for Rooster. And he certainly could understand Rooster crushing on Janet and her not having a clue, she was so out of touch with her own beauty and desirability.

Which made the fact that she'd slept with him all the more concerning. Eddie knew now in his heart of hearts that the two of them ending up in the sack together had nothing to do with lust (at least not on Janet's part) and everything to do with insecurity and misery with a healthy helping of booze thrown in. And in a way that was almost tougher to take. What had led to that horrendous indiscretion had no easy cause, and hence, no easy cure. It had to do with who Janet was at her root, and Eddie knew there was nothing he could do to fix her.

Even with all this knowledge, Eddie felt he still had a right to ask about the louse.

"Oh God, Eddie. I came to realize that he's really not a true friend. I mean, I take full responsibility for what happened. But in hindsight I've realized a lot. I asked Sully to schedule us on different shifts and I haven't seen him since Hannah's engagement party. You have to know he means absolutely nothing to me, Eddie. He was a good friend to me for many years, but that's all he ever was."

"I know."

They sat then for a good number of minutes. The sun was getting lower in the sky and Janet was starting to feel chilly. She had her jean jacket on, but even in late May the Ridge could get frosty when the sun started to go down. Eddie could tell she was shivering a bit, whether due to the cold or nerves he wasn't sure. He reached back into his truck bed and pulled out a dusty, well-worn, sheepskin-lined Carhartt jacket. He put it around Janet's shoulders.

"Thank you." Her nose crinkled up a bit in disgust. "I think." The jacket was aromatic, to say the least. "I've never seen this before – it kind of smells."

Eddie was smiling. "Yeah, sorry about that. I haven't worn it in years but I always keep it in the back of my truck. It actually used to be Rocket's blanket. Long nights out plowing, he'd kind of burrow into it. I never had the heart to get rid of it. You don't have to…"

"No, it's perfect. Thank you." She pulled the jacket around her tightly. In that moment Janet knew she'd caught another glimpse of Vulnerable Eddie. And, as she had those few indelibly-etched mornings in bed, she opted for silence rather than words. Out of respect. Out of love.

"You know, Janet, I don't really know what to do from here. It was good to talk this through some, but my head's still in a pretty bad place."

"I know, I mean, I understand. Totally."

"I just, I don't know that I can ever get over this."

Janet closed her eyes, again shoving down the urge to fight, to prostrate herself before him. Time to be strong, she knew. And to be honest – her knew paradigm. Honor yourself.

"I'm not asking you to do that, Eddie. And, for what it's worth, I've realized quite a bit about myself these past few weeks. In all honesty, I'm still so shocked at myself for what I did. But deep down I know it came from this sense I can't seem to shake that I'm not good enough. I'm starting to work on that, to work on me. I've done so much thinking these past weeks that my brain hurts. Not as much as my heart, but close. I need to find myself a bit. I got a little lost in the whirlwind."

Eddie nodded, not knowing exactly how to respond. Maybe he didn't need to. She was right and she didn't need his affirmation to realize it.

They sat a bit longer, both sensing there wasn't much more to say. They both noticed, though, that a considerable amount of tension had subsided, and both were relieved that a tiny bit of the pain had escaped, like steam from a boiling pot, and that they could sit together in an easy silence.

It was getting close to dusk. Neither knew how long they'd been talking. It felt like hours and at the same time it felt like seconds. It was enough for now.

Eddie moved his arm and turned his hand palm up, resting it gently on the tailgate between him and Janet, looking up at her, eyebrows raised. She smiled a sweet, teary smile in return and set her hand on top of his. He couldn't help but notice she still wore the silver bracelet he'd given her for Christmas. He pulled his fingers up, then, intertwining them with hers. He squeezed her hand tightly, and she did the same.

"Talk again soon?" Eddie asked, a hopeful, sexy half-smile lighting up his face.

"Yes. Definitely. Any time, Eddie." And with that, Janet squeezed his hand once more, hopped down from the tailgate, took off his jacket and handed it to him.

He cocked his head, looking at her quizzically, staring at the top of her head. "You know you have stir sticks in your hair?"

Janet's hand immediately went to the top of her head while she turned a few different shades of red, her cheeks finally settling into a nice warm russet.

"Oh my God! I totally forgot about these! I got so hot today, it was so busy. The only time I sat down all day was to pee." She looked at him as he laughed. "I'm sorry, too much information? Well, anyway, I couldn't get to my ponytail holder so these did the trick in a pinch." She quickly yanked them out and her hair cascaded down, falling in soft waves around her face. With the sun setting behind her, she couldn't have looked more beautiful to Eddie. He felt his stomach turn, but in a good way for a change.

She smiled at him one last time, and without a word she turned around and started toward her car. She fought the almost overpowering impulse to turn around and run back to him, or at least to glance back over her shoulder. She knew he was watching her. She could feel his eyes on her back.

But, no longer Janet Shrinking Violet, she got in her Jeep and headed down the alley. In her rear view mirror she could see him. He hadn't moved.

And when she turned the corner onto the street he was still there, perched on the tailgate, forearms on his knees, head up, watching.


End file.
